Anchored
by sjcrown3
Summary: AU. Her journey from Mukuro to Nobume, and everything in-between.


Disclaimer: Gintama belongs to Sorachi-sensei.

Warning: not beta-ed

I have taken liberty with changing some of the facts including the back story of the characters to suit my story.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

For as long as she could remember, she had been Mukuro.

Mukuro was an unfeeling killer. She was efficient at what she did, which was what the Naraku wanted from each and every one of them. The Tendoshuu only wanted; only needed mindless puppets with a single-mindedness to carry out their missions without fail. They were silent soldiers that don't question, don't hesitate and don't feel. The sole reason why they even bothered to pluck orphans from the many villages razed to the ground … it was only too easy to mould the young and innocent. It was like picking up a paint brush and splashing whatever colour they desired onto white paper.

That was how they found her all those years ago. Alone and recently orphaned, she had sat unmoving by the edge of the village. Garbed in a thin worn kimono, she had watched as the flames licked the sides of the wooden huts and devoured her home completely. The fumes brought mothers and children down to their knees, where they collapsed and didn't move again. Later, when their screams of anguish have long been drowned out, she watched silently as the trees parted to reveal a figure dressed in strange clothes. He did not make a sound as he approached, his straw hat hiding his features from view. It was only when he was two feet away that she saw his face.

Young, she thought immediately. Just a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen although his eyes held a different story. Dark pupils held hers intently.

"You are all alone," he stated bluntly.

When there was no answer, he said, "you should come with us. You will flourish under the Naraku."

And so she went with him, the boy whom they called Oboro. She was given new clothes and introduced to others like her. She noticed their wariness and she kept her head down as they clustered in their groups.

From then on at the age of five, she was trained in combat and to not let trivial things like morals and desire to cloud her judgement. She became the perfect soldier. Mukuro carried out all her missions methodically and the swing of her blade never wavered, slicing through muscle and tissue in one clean strike.

For a very long time, she had been Mukuro.

For a very long time, she had lived to serve … but when Oboro gave her that mission, her katana, which had always felt light in her grasp, was heavy with hesitance for the first time.

* * *

Mukuro met him when she was still a child. Crouching on a tiled roof a few houses away, she watched as the recently appointed commander of the Mimawarigumi stood in the courtyard of his headquarters. Half-lidded eyes were focused on his phone as he tapped at the keys almost religiously, only pausing to issue a few orders to his men with disinterest.

Sasaki Isaburo, the man she had been assigned to observe. Mukuro shifted so that she was shielded more fully from view. Why was this man of interest to the Tendoshuu? Three days have gone by, and nothing from the man's field of work to his eccentric mannerisms clued her to the reason.

Her target lived almost like clockwork. He woke up at the crack of dawn, arriving at the headquarters promptly at seven. He then issued some orders to his men before retreating into his office to handle paperwork. Mukuro observed that he often forgot to have lunch and his assistant, a balding old man with a limp would bring him some onigiri on a tray. Sasaki stayed in his office until sundown, when he would put down his pen, pick up his jacket and lock up before returning home to his wife.

There was nothing suspicious about him, Mukuro thought as she watched his fingers speed across the keypad, undoubtedly texting his pregnant wife again.

Perhaps the one odd thing about Sasaki was his apparent lack of interest in anything beyond his duty as the head of the police. He handled matters in an almost nonchalant manner, and he never seemed to actively seek out and prevent criminal activity. Rather, he waited for civilians to report the crime and then apprehend the culprit. This was very different from the way Mukuro has seen the Tendoshuu, and even Oboro dealt with issues. With them, it was always an 'incarcerate first, question later' policy. Giving others the benefit of the doubt was risky, it left a chance for failure.

It was the fifth day when her target deviated from routine. Instead of staying on the pathway leading to his office, Sasaki turned left into an alleyway. Her brows wrinkling ever so slightly in confusion, Mukuro covertly followed. Melting into the shadows, she froze when he spun around with his phone out.

"Hmm … I'm sure I don't have any candy with me," he drawled without looking up from the lit screen. "Now why would a pretty girl like you follow me around?"

The murmur in his speech told her that he was only mildly curious, and not outright suspicious. Nevertheless, Mukuro was surprised that he had noticed her so soon. She had been careful, keeping her distance to ensure her presence was not detected. But then again, if the Tendoshuu was interested in this man, then she should not have been surprised. Perhaps he had been aware of his shadow all along and hadn't acknowledged her until now.

After a moment, she finally stepped out just as his dead-fish eyes locked onto her ruby ones. She didn't respond immediately, and when she did it was only to say, "I don't like sweets."

His droopy eyes widened. "Eh? Don't all children like sugary things?"

He looked genuinely perplexed, so much so that he stopped texting momentarily.

The next time he saw her, there was a box of weirdly shaped things on his desk. Mukuro blinked before asking hesitantly, "what are those?"

"Doughnuts of course," he replied with his elbows propped up on the table and his chin resting on his intertwined fingers.

"No one can ever say no to doughnuts." He picked one up - one that was smeared with pink and topped with colourful sprinkles and bit into it. With the corners of his lips smudged with pink, he gestured for her to try one when he noticed that she had yet to move.

Mukuro was confused. She didn't let it show though, and kept her face neutral. Her turmoil was internal. Why hasn't he asked her about her identity? Why was he being so friendly?

Red eyes followed her target as he turned his attention to the stack of paper sitting on his desk. Grabbing the first file, he picked up a pen and proceeded to ignore her. Turning back to the box of donuts in front of her, Mukuro reached out and gingerly picked one up. Scrutinising it from all angles, she then took a small bite. It was an explosion of flavour in her mouth, and she was so occupied by the sweetness that graced her taste buds that she did not notice half-lidded eyes fastened onto her.

From that moment on, every encounter between the pair was marked by sharing of a box of doughnuts.

* * *

"Yuko."

Their legs were dangling over the edge of the rock platform, and being quite petite at the age of ten, Mukuro observed how a well-placed wave can easily soak Sasaki to the knee whereas the tip of her feet barely reached the bottom edge of the third brick. Mukuro glanced at her blonde haired companion as he stared into the water, a fishing rod held lazily in his hands. The stream was clear and Mukuro could make out a few fish prodding the hook, tempted by the bait.

"No, the neighbour's daughter is named Yuko. What about Shinobu? But Akira sounds nice too …"

She paid no attention as Sasaki continued to mutter under his breath. She watched as the rod bobbed up and down. This is the third time they stopped by this stream near the hospital where Ume-san, Sasaki's pregnant wife has her daily check ups. This time when the doctor said that the baby is due in less than a month, Sasaki had brought his wife home before requesting her to accompany him back to this stream again. They have been here for almost an hour, with him mumbling names before deciding against it not a moment after.

"Mukuro-san, what do you think about Saki?"

Mukuro looked up. Saki meant hope. She supposed it was a suitable name but to her, any name would be fitting. She was given the name Mukuro without much thought. Oboro had pondered a few seconds before deciding it for her. It didn't hold much meaning to her.

It was merely a name, akin to a label. Many others shared the same name as her. It was nothing special.

She didn't expect Sasaki to spend so much time thinking about what to name his unborn child. It gave her pause and made her wonder if her mother had done the same. Had she mulled over it during sleepless nights? Had it consumed her thoughts, taken over her attention and slipped into her mind unexpectedly?

But she would never know and so she halted that train of thought.

"It is a good name," she eventually intoned.

Sasaki exhaled, and held his tongue.

Picking up the last doughnut, he bit into it and chewed thoughtfully.

"What about Takako?"

Mukuro resisted the urge to sigh.

* * *

The order came not long after.

Stepping onto the deck of the ship, Mukuro silently made her way down to the training area. The corridors were devoid of people but it did not unnerve her. Arriving at the designated area, she stepped inside and waited.

Although she was used to the quiet, everything was too still. She found that she missed the rowdiness and the chatter in the Mimawarigumi courtyard, where the sound of fifty and so blades swinging downward in unison as the men went through their drills early in the morning every day was familiar to her. Since the day Saski had acknowledged her, effectively putting an end to her reconnaissance, she had unofficially been granted entry into their headquarters. Sometimes she would watch the men spar. Other times, she would keep an eye on their heavy-eyed commander as he ignored his subordinates giving their daily reports in favour of texting his wife. The mystery behind why Tendoshuu was interested in him persisted firmly on the edges of her mind.

Mukuro was brought out of her musings with the sound of a door clicking open. She watched passively as Oboro made his way towards her, his eyes concealed once again by his trademark straw hat.

The summon came to her while she was exploring the street stores in the morning. Sasaki was in a meeting with some government official, and Mukuro had decided that it was going to be too dull for her to endure the duration of the rendezvous. She had been watching a couple of children playing a strange game where they hopped between lines scratched on the dirt on one foot when the distinctive sound of a bird's call sparked her attention. She raised her hand skyward and shielding her eyes from the sun, saw a dark shape soared and dipped. A crow. Oboro's summon.

Flicking the edge of his hat so that Mukuro caught a glimpse of his scar running across down his nose, Oboro gave her the order.

"Kill him after his family are dead."

Mukuro felt her body stiffen and her heart thundered within her rib cage but her eyes divulged nothing as Oboro went on to explain how Sasaki was siding with the Bakufu. She barely paid attention to what he said, all she could think about what she was going to have to do and whose blood would become stained on her sword.

In the safety of solitude, she finally let the distress show. Her hands trembled slightly. At long last, she now knew why the Tendoshuu was interested in Sasaki but at the cost of her mission coming to an end.

She had grown attached to him in the last few weeks. In a moment of weakness, she had let her guard down and he had slipped in. There was a crack in her shell and she was not the same Mukuro who first glimpsed the Mimawarigumi commander.

She realised that she enjoyed the man's strangeness and his fondness for sugary sweets. He was very different from Oboro, from the other children she trained with. He was … more colourful, less secretive but not necessarily more open. He had secrets, certainly but compared to Oboro who she had known for almost six years now, she knew more about Sasaki and she wanted to know more about him.

But in the end, she was just a soldier. She could not ignore the orders given to her. She must complete her mission.

Her feelings did not matter. It _should_ not matter but it did. She recalled the teachings of the long-haired man in prison she had guarded once, about expressing her feelings and having her own thoughts instead of blindly following orders. She had not understood what he meant but he then imparted that one day, she would desire something that was against her orders. It must be this moment.

As she sat with her legs folded beneath her on a rooftop, she unsheathed her katana and laid it across her lap. The silver of the blade glinted in the moonlight and she pondered over what to do.

When she made up her mind at last, she held the blade up horizontally, and it felt surprisingly light.


End file.
